Lydia's Story
by fictionalfinesse
Summary: Naive and sheltered, the world Lydia is thrust into with the failing of her marriage causes her to grow up. How will she survive? And will her sisters help her?
1. Chapter 1

Lydia Wickham was destitute in more ways than one. Some of her own understanding, for even a young woman of nineteen with little wit to speak of could not miss the way she no longer appeared in society, or the haggardness of her appearance as she looked into the glass, nor the fact that her husband no longer worked but came home to herself and her two children only to spend a few hours sleeping and return to cards and drink at dusk.

The ones she did not understand or perhaps did not care to notice were the ways her husband's attentions strayed to other women, the way she went to bed without him beside her, the way, surely and slowly the fact that Wickham no longer loved her, and probably never had, broke her heart.

Despite all her troubles, Lydia Wickham had become quite a hail young woman, with strength to carry on when her husband was requested that he kindly never show his lying self again, thank you very much. She had born a great deal as he had commanded her to choose one of her gowns, sturdy like, and nothing else, She had silently born it as he sold all their possessions and removed them to a one room hovel in a back alley of the slums. She had given birth to their first son there, shivering in the cold of winter as the women of the neighborhood had clucked and cooed over her through the great pain that had brought little George screaming, quiet loudly, into the world. As she held him to her breast, in the wonderment a mother feels towards the great love of a child, she looked up to meet Wickham's eye as he turned a ducked through the door. He gave her no comfort; no tenderness was passed between then as they gazed upon the miracle that was their child. The love she had hoped for at the birth of their son never came, and she wondered if perhaps it ever would.

The women had been quite kind to her that winter, supplying food and clothing, perhaps used by their own babes at one time, though that winter was harsh and supplies hard to come by. Most had been seized by pity of the young, beautiful woman and her situation in life. They had looked at their own men and had thought that perhaps God had blessed them in one way.

She had survived, not in comfort, but through it all she learned a great deal from the kindness of the tough women around her. She saw them every day, working hard to support their men and children and was given strength anew. She was not a fast learner but she took her time getting to know each woman and learning the way to economize a kitchen, or turn a new-born-babe clothing into those of a thriving toddler. She had truly never learned anything useful as a girl. Instead of chopping wood she had darned bonnets, instead of scrubbing floors she had gathered flowers and learned the best secrets to beauty. There was a time when she had held those women in her contempt, but now she envied them in their knowledge of a hard life lived.

It was then, as she tried desperately to keep her family together, herself almost eighteen and her son a half a year old that she conceived her second child.

When she had come to Wickham with the news his face had hardened and he had left, naught a word said to his wife. She did not see him for many days.

At the beginning she had written to her sisters for help in her situation, asking them for all they could spare to support herself, her husband and child, and the new babe soon to come. She had waited and hopped and believed they would send aid, but weeks turned into months and no letter arrived. She reflected bitterly on the past and believed perhaps they were right in not providing relief.

It was not until one fateful night that she had awoken quite suddenly, little George in her arms, sleeping like an angel, her belly swollen with the growth of her child, by a loud noise. Sitting up she looked over to see Wickham occupying the only chair of the residence stairing sullenly into a small fire he had created with the kindling she would have used for the morning meal. Silently she detangled herself from the small fingers of her son and rose, walking over to her husband. He rested his head in one hand and in the other he clutched several pristine pieces of paper. She peered over his shoulder and spied the beautiful script of her older sister Jane accompanied byt the broad and gentle of her sister Elizabeth. A small cry of surprise and happiness escaped her as she beheld their replies, all was not lost.

Wickham, hearing her, rose to his feet and hid the letters behind his back. She looked at him in disbelief.

"Wickham, please, those letters, they are from my sisters, are they not?"

He peered out at her with unfeeling contempt. She feared that look more than anything.

"What letters?" He asked, sneering down at her as he the letters into the small fire, lighting up the four walls and her son sleeping quietly on the bed, only Wickham's face was cast into dreaded shadow. Lydia had cried out in mourning as she watched the parchment flake into black nothingness. He gave one last apathetic glace at her as he turned his back on her and left his wife kneeling before the fire, disbelief written in all her features.


	2. Chapter 2

It was at the beginning of December, a few weeks early that baby Henry joined the world, with great blue eyes to match his mother's and spirit enough to keep the whole neighborhood awake if he wished it. She did not rely on her neighbors as much as she had with baby George. She had found a great blue coat in the ally way before her home, abandoned and most likely by a man too drunk to miss it, and had turned it into a warm outfit for little George and swaddling for Henry. She economized in places such as firewood and kept a few coins she had come across, doing odd jobs around the neighborhood sewn into the lining of her ragged dress, as she knew Wickham would never find it there, as he no longer found any interest in her whatsoever. She would beg every night at the back of a slaughter house and a bakery along with other desperate souls to feed her hungry children. She would do whatever it took to protect them.

Thus Lydia Wickham passed another year. And as winter approached, herself now barely nineteen, little George beginning to speak and Henry's first birthday coming and going, did Christmas loom large on the horizon. This was not a time of great cheer for Lydia. Indeed within the last year it had turned into more of a reminder as to what she could not have, not provide for her children. As the days ticked down Lydia put all her energy, as she had for quite some time, into wiping the thought of hunger from her children's minds. It was that mindset that on Christmas day she gave her sons fresh bread and a small apple each, sacrificing half of her meager collection of coins. She watched them as ringlet, little George's brown eyes lit up with happiness at the shiny red sphere. Henry held up his to his mother, bright laughter in his eyes, offering a bite to her. Lydia laughed at him and tickled his sides until happy glee escaped his small frame and filled up the space they lived. She smiled happily on as her sons laughed and played, merely enjoying their youth and energy. If only Wickham could see this.

It was at this desperate wish that there came a loud wrapping at the door and another fast behind it. Lydia jumped to her feet telling little George to watch his brother as she slowly unlatched the door opening it as to not allow the cold to penetrate too deeply into their warmth. To her surprise, a great man, holding a hat between his meaty fingers, gave a smile revealing several blackened teeth.

"'Ello, Mrs." He said.

"Hellos, sir" she replied a bit inquisitive as to why he should be out before her hovel ,on Christmas day no less. Her gaze traveled behind the man to two men barely out of boyhood, a makeshift stretcher between them, a body lying upon it.

A hand flew up to her mouth in Disbelief.

"Oim terribly sorry, Mrs." The great man said. "We fand "im this mornin frozen outsad the pab. Twernt a thing to be done."

A sob escaped her throat and tears streaked down her cheeks. The man she loved lay dead before her. She had not been happy with him, but she desperately wished to. Tried in vain, again and again to change his ways, but at each attempt he had hurt her, until her battered heart could no longer endure the pain. But, as much as it pained her to love him, she could not resist. She still held hope, somewhere, that he could reform, if not for her, for their sons. Now his cold remains left her not only destitute but completely without hope.

She turned to the large man, clearing her throat she whispered. "I have no money to pay for his burial. Please, what shall be done?"

The man gave her a tired and pitiful gaze. "We shall have to bury him in the beggar yard. Oim sorry Mrs." He said tipping his hat and walking in great strides away form her, the young boys and the stretcher quickly following.

Little George had come to peer from behind her skirt, wanting to be a part of the commotion. Turning away from her last sight of Wickham, Lydia scooped him into her arms, burying her face into the lovely, brown curls that could only come from his father and gently closed the door on the cold. She carried George back to where Henry sat beneath a great pile of ragged blankets and joined them. Henry offered her another bite of his nearly finished apple. Lydia kissed his forehead and taking the apple into her hands she took a bite of the bitter-sweet fruit.

**Hey! Its me again. Finals are over and I found the binder that had my original story in it. I hope to add a lot of updates over the break, and I hope I still have a few people that want to continue to read it! :) Just sos you know, many of my chapters will be rather short, but the story is kinda long, so Im sorry if that bothers you. :/**

**Just in case, but if anything is amiss or reads weirdly, please let me know. Sometimes I read it and I think "hey thats awesome wording..." and than I realize months latter it sucks... so if you realize before me, let me know please!**

**Hope you enjoyed it.**

**Than you for all the reviews and comments. I really appreciate them.**


	3. Chapter 3

Lydia was indeed, a rarity of a creature. She dearly loved to be happy and as a child spent a great deal of time smiling and laughing. She had a head full of simple ideas, and when she found herself happily in love with a man of some consequence and he offered to run away with her, promising all the world, she eagerly followed. At first she considered herself extremely fortunate and continued in her simple ways, but as her husband was removed from his regiment and she found herself in a sudden and extreme poverty a great deal in her altered.

Lydia dearly loved poor Wickham, and at the beginning of their downfall she was apt to believe his terrible stories of injustice and that not too far in the future he saw great prosperity.

But after many months of debt collectors' calls and Wickham rarely to be seen and often too drunk to provide any aid, Lydia grew up, albeit in a rather extreme fashion.

Her happiness slipped away and desperation took its place. With the coming of George and shortly after, Henry; Lydia quickly understood her position and tried, in the only way she could, to provide for her family. She rarely spent time to contemplate her position, and as Lydia was a simple girl she found she could handle the changes rather well.

It was upon this terribly cold Christmas morning that Lydia Wickham was, for a moment, crushed under it all. But as she turned and her sons' innocent faces gleamed at their simple gifts, not yet fully able to understand their loss, the simple determination to protect them returned and Lydia's simple mind began to form a plan.

There had been only one thing Lydia had hidden from Wickham. As he systematically bartered and sold her gowns and pearls and slippers, Lydia had kept one thing, a ring. The ring Wickham gave her at their wedding. He had told her it was his mother's before her and she cared for it dearly. She had thought that one day she could bring it out of hiding and wear it proudly on her hand. That had been the only reason Lydia never sold it for food or clothing. It was her last shred of hope and she clung to it. But now, with Wickham… gone and no other option presenting itself, she needed it. Only now did she realize that he must have lied, even as everything else was pawned away, Wickham never asked to have the ring, he must not have remembered it.

As her sons slept peacefully behind her, she knelt before the long empty hearth. Reaching into the far left corner she pried a loose black rock from its snug position and pulled out a small leather pouch. Opening it gently she slid a beautiful gold band out into her palm where the tips of her fingers traced the cold hard circle. Gently taking it between her thumb and forefinger, she slid it onto her left hand. The ring fit loosely, no longer the perfect fit, and she knew she if she uncurled her fingers the ring would fall to the floor.

Lydia looked at the bones in her hands to the jutting of her wrist. She felt the coarseness of her palms. Her hair had grown long and Lydia felt ugly. She kept it in a tight braid so as not to fall in her eyes during the day. Her dress, once snug, fit loosely and hung about her breasts and waist. She was no longer beautiful, but she had never cared. She had done it all for him, sacrificed everything. She had loved him.

And now he was gone, taking all of her sacrifices with him, destroying all her hope. At the utter weight of it all Lydia wept, silent tears streaking down her face. But above it all she mourned the loss of the man she loved. She settled herself next to her sons and fell into a deep sleep; she knew what she would have to do.


	4. Chapter 4

The carriage bumped and jostled as she traveled southward. Four men and two women were bundled in the tiny cab along with Lydia and her two sons. How they managed to all fit Lydia did not know. But somehow, even with the stench of bodies, she found their present comforting, even if it was because of the heat their proximity provided.

She had bartered and sold the ring, for barely half of its real value if she guessed correctly. It was just enough to buy fare for herself and George and Henry. That very day Lydia took her sons wrapped in blankets away from their tiny hovel and waited in the snow for the passing carriage. As it was winter and right after Christmas, a seat in the post was difficult to come by. She talked to the carriage driver down as far as he would go, seeing the desperate state of affairs for the poor girl, but it still used most of the money she had received just that morning.

She had thanked the man and planned for a long journey. When Lydia and Wickham first traveled to the North Country it took them almost three days to reach their destination, but that was in the summer with a light carriage and fast horses. This time they had neither; the carriage weighed down with people, snow on the ground, and slow but steady mules. No, this time it may be five to six days before reaching Longborn. She hoped and prayed it would not be so long.

Maybe her plan was a foolish one, but there was no place left to turn, no place she and her sons could be safe. Perhaps, Lydia thought, perhaps she should have left, should have returned long ago. Maybe even before little George had been born, but the desire to prove herself, to prove to her sisters and her father that even though it may have been foolish, it had been right. That he had loved her.

She shook her head, trying to rid it of thoughts of him. Her eyes burned for a moment with tears that she desperately wanted to hide. She rubbed roughly at her eyes and decided that however it played out, however long it took, going home to Mother and Kitty… and Father was her only hope left.

She glanced down as Henry slept peacefully against her breast and little George distractedly played with a loose string connected to Lydia's dress. She did not worry too much for herself, but for the children it would be a very long journey. The distance was only a small concern, but the hunger. Lydia knew hunger and could endure it; it was the children she worried for. Even with all her efforts they had never been completely satisfied, but had never truly been hungry either, she had half a loaf of bread and if she rationed sparingly, it would only last them three days. With a sigh Lydia reached down and plucked the string from her dress giving it to George. Ruffling his curls, she pressed his cheek to her shoulder, encouraging him to sleep. Night would be upon them soon and most of the warmth would leave with the sun. Wrapping the thin blankets more snuggly around them she settled in for a long journey.

another chapter. Its been a while, I know. But Im always thinking about her and her struggles and life after the end of PP. I still have a ton of chapters I need to type up, but half the story has been written. So if you're willing to be patient- thank you.

And thank you so much for the encouragement and reviews. I really, really appreciate them. Have a good summer (but dont worry, I'll update sooner rather than latter)


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